The Great Scandinavia
by Rose Fletcher
Summary: Scandinavia strives to be the best nation ever! Follows the adventures of Scandinavia in her prime and then as she becomes the Nordic 5. May be a bit bloody at certain points.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Woohoo! My very first Hetalia totally-not-a-oneshot fanfic! *streamers* Okay, if you notice any historical details that need fixing, don't hesitate to PM me or leave a comment pointing out what's wrong and how to fix it. Thanks! Onward to the story!**

* * *

The girl sat on top of a man's broad shoulders. She was tall for her age and rather strong as well. Her pale blonde hair was cropped close to her head (so it wouldn't get in the way, obviously), her legs kicked idly and her long, elegant fingers were wrapped in the man's hair so she wouldn't topple off. A short sword (just short enough to be called short thank you very much) was slung over her back in a well-fitting sheath. She was a warrior, just as much as the other people laughing and drinking and slapping each other on the back around her. She fought for her people so they could become stronger. She fought for the pure pleasure of fighting.

The man set her down on the ground. Most girls and boys her age would've been scared, but she was older and braver than she looked. She greeted her people with her head held high. After all, these people were her family. They laughed and slapped her on the back, greeting her as family, as one of them. They loved her and she loved them.

Shared energy brought on by the anticipation of battle swirled through the crowd, invisible but not unseen. A man swung his axe experimentally; another sharpened his brother's sword. Battles brought them closer together like nothing else. There was something about battles that brought adrenaline singing through your veins. Excitement was a slippery thing, one moment you had it, then the next it had leaked through to everyone around you.

The man scooped her up onto his massive shoulders once her greetings were finished. His big feet carried them to the front of the crowd. They moved closer to the shore and watched their people get into the small boats that enabled them to reach the longboats waiting for them. She would follow soon.

The man smiled up at her.

"Gonna be a fun battle, eh Scandi?" He used the nickname for her she only allowed him to use (and only when they were completely alone).

She huffed. "Obviously, when is it not?" Her little feet kicked against his muscled chest. He laughed.

"Quite true."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Alfarr," she spoke the large man's name. It meant 'elf army', but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why someone would name their child 'elf army'. It seemed a little ludicrous.

"Mmmhmm?" Alfarr replied. He replied with noises often. It drove Scandi crazy. She suspected that was why he did it. Stubbornly, she stayed silent until he replied with "Yes?" instead.

She punched her fist into the air in front of her, "I'm gonna be the strongest nation in the world." His eyebrows raised and to his credit, he didn't say anything. He only laughed and punched his fist out like hers.

"Yeah, Scandi," he replied softly after a while. "We're gonna make our nation great."

"The Great Scandinavia," the girl tried out the title, rolling it around her tongue. It sounded positively musical. "I like it."


	2. Chapter 1

Battle. I love the sound of that word; the way it rings out in the air powerfully, carrying strength and tension. Blood. I love the feeling that word invokes; fear raw and pure penetrating the depths of the heart. The sound of the two of them together is positively harmonious, like a song or a poem. If painting the ground in red could be likened to a poem.

The sky is wrought in the loveliest shades of red today. A burnt red surrounds the bright halo of the sun and lethargically fades into oranges and pinks until it rests on a soft cotton-candy blue directly above my head. The soft puffs of clouds floating in the sky are painted different shades of purple, pink and yellow. Sunset was undoubtedly my favourite time to wage war.

"Oi, Scandinavia!" A large man calls to me and motions for me to come, grinning like a fool. I flash a grin right back at him and take off after him, swinging my sword at random vegetation on the ground.

"I love these raids," I gasp between laughs. The man pauses to swing a heavy sack onto my back.

"We get food, supplies and fun all at once, Scandi! There's nothing better!" I study him out of the corner of my eye as we run. He looks uncannily like his great-great-grandfather, Alfarr. Alfarr was a father to me. He'd died a lifetime ago, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never left; that he'd never leave. Alfarr had been with me for my entire childhood; he'd been the one who had raised me. He'd raised me as a son, so I guess that was why I was more comfortable as a boy. Ever since I was a child, I'd always looked more like a boy than a girl (probably because of my affinity for short hair). My chest is still rather flat and if I wear loose-fitting shirts, then it becomes completely unnoticeable. Besides, nobody wants to charge into battle with a girl in the lead.

We jump (lightly, of course. No point in jeopardizing the operation now) into a little rowboat. Quickly, our team of men (and me) push off from shore and row out to the nearby longboat. It's massive. The wooden hull stretches out to the horizon, enveloped in a soft mist. A serpent's head perches on the tip of the boat. It's been wrought masterfully out of wood with little scales and facial features carved into it. Its reflective metal eyes shine out of the mist. It looks like it could almost be real. Multiple circular shields hang over the edge of the longboat, offering decoration and cover to those inside the boat.

The boat is built larger than most Viking longboats. It has two decks and a lot of room for storage and living. I'd had it made for long voyages and because it gave me something to do. Not that I didn't have enough to do already, but if someone needed me for something that I really didn't want to do, I'd just claim that I had to clean the massive ship. It works like a charm.

Our boat is hauled up the side of the longboat. All at once, we clamber out of the tiny lifeboat and enter the chaos of the longboat. Ours was the last to reach the massive ship and we get to work tying and securing the lifeboats to the ship and getting the pillaged goods to the storage. I heft a bag of goods onto my back and slip into the crowd easily, Alfarr II at my side. We make our way belowdecks with a lot of shoving and cursing.

"Why don't these idiots move aside?" I pant, dropping my bag onto a pile of other bags. Alfarr II grins at me.

"Forget about that, think of the feast we'll have tonight!" His eyes light up at the thought of a feast. Boys are very easy to please when it comes to stomachs, I notice. I grin at him. I am too, if I'm honest.

"Yeah! That was an amazing haul!" I reach my arms behind my head and walk with him, completely relaxed. He glances at his axe. It's Alfarr's axe. Once he'd died, it had passed down to his son who'd given it to Alfarr II in turn. I'd told him to always cherish it.

"We should probably clean our weapons."

"You should go ahead without me," I tell him. "I have to go talk to the captain." Being a nation means priorities and duties and, as much as I hate them, I still have to obey them. As Alfarr II heads off (albeit a little sullenly), I head up to the Captain. This is the part I hate the most out of all raids. Not meeting with the Captain, but the transition from being a carefree boy to a mature nation. Though I still resemble an adolescent boy, I am older than any man on board. I've lived more lifetimes than any of them have and ever will.

I insert myself into the flow of people with relative ease. No matter how many times I've done this, I still feel nervous going to meet the Captain. I adjust the collar of my shirt self-consciously. I spot the Captain with relative ease. He's tall, battle scarred and by far the scariest person here (which is a big accomplishment, believe me).

"Sir?" I ask, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. I'm so nervous, that I barely notice the boy standing at the Captain's feet.

"How much did we get?"

"Enough to feed us for a while, sir!" I exclaim with pride.

"Mhmm." The Captain seems a bit distracted. "We have a new …. _addition._"

I notice the little boy hugging the Captain's leg. He's clinging to the Captain's pant leg like he'll never let go.

"Um, sir, what's-"

"And, I sure as hell don't have time to take care of the little bugger," the captain cuts me off. The boys fists tighten on the rough material of the Captains pants.

"So, um, if you don't mind, Scandinavia," he continues and I finally get it.

"No freaking way am I going to take care of a little _sveinstaul!_" I spit out. "No. Freaking. Way."

The boy averts his gaze to the ground, but I don't care if I hurt him. I'm not going to have a little boy ruin my life.

"Why not just give him to one of the women back home?" I plead.

The Captain shakes his head. "No one will want this little runt. Look at him. He isn't strong. He isn't big. He's just a small, useless boy."

"Then why shove him on me?" I spit heatedly, gritting my teeth to keep from shouting. As it is, a few people are already stopping to stare. Slowly, I rest my fierce gaze on each one of them until they get back to work.

"Because, Scandinavia, you have a history of turning useless things into, well, useful things."

I turn to glare at the Captain. This is probably the first time I've fought with him like this. "That's a pathetic excuse and you know it." I regard the boy. His hair is greasy and dirty, like it hasn't been washed in weeks, his face is streaked with dirt and tears and his clothes are in tatters. Strangely, I feel drawn to this boy. I can't accurately describe it, but looking at this boy feels like I just opened my eyes for the first time in a long time.

"Fine. I'll take him." What. The. Hell. Did I really just say that?

The boy's eyes snap up to me, but I'm already looking at the Captain. I put on a carefully constructed mask of confidence and stare the Captain down. He looks surprised. He must have thought I would have fought him more, and frankly, so did I. But there's something about this boy, something that I can't explain, that makes me want to keep him exactly where I can see him. And I don't like it.

Before the Captain can say anything else, I grab the boy's hand none too gently and drag him behind me. Purposely, I set a pace I know is too brisk for the boy to keep up with, and he stumbles along behind me. My eyes quickly seek out the empty weapons room and we duck inside. Most people are already up above, rowing and manning the sails. I won't be missed.

Roughly, I shove the boy away from me and slam the door closed, bolting it. I whirl around, my rough white shirt flapping.

"What the hell?!" I pound my fist into the unforgiving wooden wall in the space between gleaming weapons, swearing when the pain lances up my wrist.

"Okay," the boy speaks for the first time. I let out a short laugh, surprised at the statement. I sigh and turn to face him.

"What's your name?" His head tips to the side, quizzically. He seems so at ease, that I wonder if his previous show of nervousness was an act.

"My name is Scandinavia," I reply shortly. The boy shakes his head.

"I mean, what's your _real _name?"

The question stuns me. Nobody's ever asked me for my real name before; I guess they all just assumed that my country name was my only name. Even though I've barely ever used it, my name still rushes into my memory as clear and familiar as if I use it every day. I don't know where it came from, but from the moment I was born, I knew it. It was like knowing how to breathe. My name is written on my heart.

Warily, I regard the boy, unsure if he knows the weight of the question he's just asked. Names carry a certain power, especially the hidden ones. Since my name has gone unspoken for centuries, I'm hesitant to tell him.

_You can trust me._

My head snaps up and for the first time, I look into his eyes. They're a deep, blood red. I take an involuntary step back, sliding into my fighting stance.

"What are you?"

"What are you?" The boy repeats my question with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "From the moment I saw you, I sensed something different."

"Sensed?" This is getting weird. I don't do weird.

"I-it's hard to explain," he struggles to find words. "I guess when I see people, I can see things about them. I can see parts of their past, pieces of their future, their present, I can know their name, their families, people they hold dear and enemies they hate."

Fear lances through me. Does he already know my name?

_Of course not. Why do you think I asked?_

Carefully, I tilt my head back and stare down at him. "And you can read thoughts." It's not a question.

He nods. "I can also communicate through them, although it's hard. It takes a great deal of concentration, and I can only do it with someone I know. Very well."

I snort derisively. "Kid, I've never met you before, believe me."

He just tilts his head thoughtfully.

"I'm a country. Scandinavia. Wish I could say I'm pleased to meet you, but you've just ruined my life, so I guess you can imagine how I'm really not. Pleased, I mean." I lean forward. "And if you want to know my name, then tell me yours first."

The boy sticks out his hand. "I'm Fárbjóðr."

I snort again and ignore his hand. "Why do you go by _destroyer_?"

"Because I'm an orphan and bad things always seem to happen around me." I note the use of _around _and not _to._

"Join the club," I take his still outstretched hand and place my sword in it. His eyes widen.

"Don't get excited, you're helping me clean this thing."

I snatch a rag from the side and get to work cleaning the dried blood off the sword. Despite my promise, I don't make him do anything besides hold the sword.

"So, Fárbjóðr," I start, sounding out his name. "You can see everything about a person when you meet them?"

He shakes his head, his dirty hair lightly swishing. "Not really. I told you, it's hard to explain. But, when I see people, I just know things. Kind of like knowing that your shirt is white or that you have a flat chest."

"Shut up," I snap. "A-and no, I don't. I'm a guy."

"Nope." Damn kid.

Irked, I roll my eyes. Seeing no point in arguing, I reply with, "Fine, but just keep it to yourself. Most people assume I'm a guy and I'd like to keep it that way."

He shrugs. "People don't question things unless you give them good reason to."

"So, you know things about me, then?"

"No. Like I said, you're different. You seem way older than most people ever should be, and that was the only thing I knew about you for sure, besides that you are a girl."

"So, I'm a mystery to you then?" I start on polishing the sword.

"Yes."

"Then we're even." My bright, blue eyes lift up to study him. "What are you? Normal people can't see others' pasts, presents, futures and what-have-you."

He shrugs. "I guess I'm not normal, then."

"So you don't know?"

His smile is mischievous. "I never said that." My hand connects with the back of his head and he lurches forward.

"Don't sass me."

His disconcerting red eyes meet my deep blue ones and he studies me for a moment, all humor gone.

"I'm something most people believe exists in legend."

"Get to the point."

He takes a deep breath.

"I'm the Yggdrasil."

**Okay so I read this part again: It's Alfarr's axe. And I read it as: It's Alfarr's sax. And I was like ****o(≧∇≦o) Play that sax, Alfarr.**

**Anywho, Chapter one down! 99 left to go! Yaaay! :P I'm going to finish this fanfiction if it kills me. I hope this chapter wasn't lame! I wanted to add action, and make this chapter kickass awesome, but I had to introduce the new character and by the time I'd done that, I already had, like 2,304 words so I had to stop. I ended up cutting out some of chapter 1 at the end. I figured nobody would read it if it was too long. (╥_╥)**** Please, please, please give constructive criticism and NITPICK IF YOU WANT! I want to improve this to the best it possibly can be! Thanks for reading! Check for new chapters!**

**(****ノ＞****＜。****)****ノ**


	3. Chapter 2

The pain was unbearable. There I was, all alone again. Why did people always abandon me? Why were they so willing to help me when it helped them? But when I needed them, they'd just vanish? Pain shot through my side and I fell to my knees. The words that left my mouth were hardly appropriate for an eight-year-old, but I was beyond caring. _Besides, _I thought bitterly, _nobody's around to hear me._

I struggled to my feet. My footsteps quickly slowed to a shuffle. Blood dripped from my side as I stumbled forward, contrasting the lush green with stark red. I let out a sharp laugh that turned into a moan. Funny, how it would end this way, after all those years. I gave up, letting myself drop to my scraped and scabbed knees again. Let them come. When they find me, they would only find a body.

Footsteps shuffled somewhere close by and I smiled. They'd found me. It was bound to happen, and I was dead anyways, so what did I care? A pair or too-small feet crept into my line of sight. Was this not them? Futilely, I tried to open my mouth to speak. _Who are you? What do you want with me?_

Slowly, stutteringly, my eyelids slid closed, blacking out my vision.

* * *

"Acke, stay away from him, right now. He's not well."

A feminine voice penetrated my murky darkness.

"Aw, but mom! He'd probably love to have a friend!" A childish voice called out.

Friend? I tried desperately to move, to say something. I wanted a friend badly. Heck, I needed a friend like I needed oxygen.

The only movement I could manage was a small flick of my finger. It was enough.

"Mom, look!" the high, childish voice infused with excitement floated to my ears. I tried to smile. "He's awake! Aren't you? I saw you move!"

"Get away! The female voice sounded more humorous than annoyed. I forced my eyes open to find a round, child's face shoved close to my own. Reflexively, my head snapped back, pushing further into the pillows. I was surprised at the softness of everything. It seemed so … lush.

"I'm so sorry about my son," the woman said, pulling her son off of me. Now that I could see them, I saw that the boy wasn't as young as I'd first assumed. He looked to be about two years younger than me. I could see that the woman was young. Her long brown hair fell to her waist in neat plaits, her blue eyes were twinkling with mirth and her smile was wide. I couldn't help but smile back at her. "Acke is just very energetic. He doesn't realize that he can be annoying."

The boy's face fell and I hurried to say, "Oh, no! I didn't find him annoying at all!" They both smiled at me and I smiled wider.

"How are you feeling?" the boy, Acke, asked, apparently satisfied that we were now friends.

"Well, thanks," I replied, not surprised to find it true. I tended to heal faster than most people. The boy nodded as if a person recovering from fatal injuries was something he saw on a regular basis.

"Can I," I started, my voice softening nervously when they both turned to look at me. "C-can I go outside?" Fresh air usually helped me.

The woman frowned, but nodded. "Be careful. Nothing more vigorous than walking, okay?"

Acke pouted, but I nodded.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

The woman laughed and waved me off. "No problem. Just be safe, okay?"

I smiled. Acke grabbed my hand and started to drag me at half-run.

"Come on! You're going to see the pigs and-"

"Acke! Walk!"

"Yes, mom!"

Acke walked only until we reached the doors. He jumped outside with full force and landed hard on his feet. He turned his head and grinned at me.

"Race ya!" He took off.

"No fail!" I yelled, already in pursuit. "I don't know where we're going!"

We ran through a pretty village paved with cobblestone. Large, painted buildings rose out of the ground on either side, towering majestically over us. People milled around us and we wove through the with ease; Acke cutting a path and I following.

Acke waved and shouted greetings at people we passed by. They waved back, calling him by name. I felt a little jealous of this boy. He had a family and a village that knew and loved him. I could only wonder at what that must feel like.

We broke free of the paved streets and burst into vibrant colour. Bright green fields dotted with livestock stretched into the horizon, meeting with clear blue skies. Flowers grew in patches, speckling the grass with random splashes of vivid colour. I marveled at the sky. It wasn't just one shade of blue. Dark blue was splashed across the horizon where it touched the grass, eventually fading to a brilliant sky-blue with the barest hint of clouds. The hot white sun hung in the exact centre of it all.

We passed animals in a blur. I gaped at them, large and small alike.

I glanced ahead at Acke, reluctantly dragging my attention away from my surroundings. He seemed to be heading for a splash of brown: a pig pen. I put on an extra burst of speed, catching up to him with ease. My legs were longer than his, but he was more fit. We reached the fence at the same time, panting and smiling. I turned to Acke and he grinned.

"Alright, I'll let you win this time!" He promptly jumped into the mud.

* * *

"Why is there mud all over your shoes?" Ackes mother held up a pair of shoes I recognized as the ones Acke wore earlier. He shrugged.

"Because pigs are muddy?"

His mother gave him a swat. "Don't go in the mud with your shoes on."

"Should I take them off?" He tilted his head quizzically. She sighed.

"If you must go in the mud, then yes. Take them off first."

She turned to me and smiled.

"Thank you for dinner," I said before she could say anything. She laughed.

"You're welcome! Now why don't you have Acke show you where you're going to sleep tonight?"

"Yay!" Acke jumped up and grabbed my hand, dragging me upstairs. For a six-year-old, he was strong.

He led me up some stairs and into a small room with two hammocks hung from the ceiling. I recognized it at the room I woke up in.

"You can sleep here," he pointed to the hammock on the right and then pointed to me. "And you should probably change your bandages."

I doubted that. Carefully, I removed my borrowed shirt and felt my bandages. Blood stained the bandage in a wide circle. As I unwrapped them, Acke picked up some new bandages. While he was preoccupied, I took a look at my wound. There was dried blood around the area it would have been, but there was no gash anymore. A faint scar trailed in an impeccably straight line where the wound used to be and I grimaced. They had good aim, if nothing else. Acke glanced at me.

"Go wash off the blood in there," he nodded to a small closet. Relieved that the blood hid the lack of wound from him, I stepped inside. There was a rag and a little basin filled with lukewarm water. Slowly, I washed off the blood. The area was still tender. I wondered how I would hide this from him. Surely, he wouldn't expect the wound to be entirely gone. Nobody healed that fast. At least, not anybody I knew.

Warily, I left the closet, unsure of what to say, but knowing I had spent far too long washing away the blood. I didn't want him to be suspicious of anything. Acke wasn't holding any bandages as he came to inspect the gash. He nodded.

"Just as I thought." That phrase sounded a little ridiculous coming from him. I started.

"R-really?"

"Yup. You're healed."

I regarded him warily, "And you're not … surprised?"

"Should I be?"

I nodded, desperate for him to see something was amiss. This was the way it had always been; someone would find me, help me and then realize I was different. Then they'd get scared and chase me away, sometimes injuring me like the last people had. I hated it, but I needed something to be normal. Nothing was normal right now, and I had no idea how to deal with it.

"You found me, right?" I waited for him to affirm it before I moved on. "When you found me, I was about to die. My side was completely cut open," I touched the area where my bandage used to be, "and I passed out. If I was a normal person, I wouldn't have survived, no matter how well you took care of me." I should have died anyways.

Acke shook his head. "We're different, my family. We help other people heal. I don't know why, but it's always been like that. My mother can, her father could, his mother could and I can."

I frowned. "There doesn't seem to be a pattern."

He shrugged. "It's unpredictable. It's not even the first-born child. My mom was the seventh child in her family."

I nodded. "Okay. We're both not normal."

He smiled. "Yep. I help people heal faster and you can heal faster than other people." He smiled. "It's not a bad way to be."

There was one question that was bugging me. "Aren't people afraid of you?"

He shook his head. "They just think we're really good healers. People don't generally question things unless you give them good reason to."

I nodded. "True, I guess." I turned my attention to the setting sun outside the window and yawned. The sky was an explosion of colour. Pinks, reds, yellows and blues fought for dominance. I wondered if they knew that darkness would soon take over. Acke and I climbed into our hammocks as the sun finally finished its descent and sunk behind the horizon.

The room was pitch-black despite the lack of window covering. The only light came from the soft twinkle of distant stars. Heart pounding, I stepped out of bed and crossed the floor lightly. Pushing the glass out, I leaned out of the window and into the frigid night air. Quickly, I scanned the sky. No moon. New moon.

"Acke?" I said nervously from my perch by the window.

"Mhm?" He answered lazily, rolling over to face me.

"I-I," I stuttered, at a loss for words. "Can you lock the door, and promise me something?"

"Sure," Acke frowned, confused, but slipped out of bed and locked the door. It slid in place with a heavy click. I could feel my consciousness begin to fall out of my grasp. Desperately, I clung to it.

"Thanks. Now promise me something."

_Hungry, I'm so hungry._

He scratched the back of his head. "I don't like promises. It feels fake, like the only time I can be trusted to do something is when I promise to do it."

_Blood. I smell fresh blood. So hungry._

"I'd feel better if you promised me," I reply anxiously.

_Let me out! Let me eat! Eat! Eat!_

It was pushing at the barriers of my consciousness, causing blackness to seep into the edges of my vision.

_Yeesss! Let me out! Let me be free! Let me eat! So hungry!_

Acke considered for a moment, studying my face. Finally, he realized something was seriously wrong. "Okay." I just hoped that locking the door was the right call, and that I hadn't led Acke to his doom. My head pounded.

_Food! Blood! Fresh meat! Let me eat! Let me kill!_

"Please don't die."

I never heard his reply before I split in half.

* * *

**Yay! Chapter two! XD Here you go, people. I should be doing schoolwork right now, but ugh, math. :P What do you think? I sincerely hope the POV isn't too obvious. Not as long as Chapter one! Only 1,987 of actual story! Yay! Hope you enjoyed and please leave feedback! :D**


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